Dead Heat (Alpha & Omega #4)(43)
He nodded. His responsibility. Alphas, she had noticed, were very responsible people. That was it, that was the key. The reason he felt he had to take care of Chelsea, in the hit-man sense of the phrase.
“But we don’t all fail, do we?” Anna said softly. “Too many of us, yes, but not all.” She looked at the unconscious woman. “Brother Wolf doesn’t think that she will fail. That’s why Charles Changed her. It was not impulse, it was inspiration that drove him. His inspiration is more accurate than most people’s.”
Hosteen rose to his feet and looked down upon his daughter-in-law. “She is strong-minded,” he said, then smiled a little. “I’ve never had anyone argue with me by listening before. You must drive Bran wild. You listen and tug a little, and listen and push a little, and in the end you persuade me not to do—”
“—something you never wanted to do.” Anna finished winding her yarn and began knitting again, paying special attention to which side of her knitting the yarn fell on. “My dad always says it’s easier to convince someone of something they already want to believe.”
“She saved Kage’s children.” He reached out and touched Chelsea’s cheek. She stirred under his touch and then quieted. He left his hand there.
Anna tensed. She was too far away to stop him, assuming she could stop him. But she didn’t think she’d have to.
He bowed his head and then looked over his shoulder at Anna. “You—” His voice broke. Probably because the Marrok was talking to him, too.
Anna, get out of there. The witchborn don’t always make the transition from witch to wolf easily. If she was strong enough to hide herself from Charles’s wolf, then she’s strong enough to be dangerous. Strong enough to hide if she is a dark witch. Charles is coming, but you and Hosteen get out of there right now.
She couldn’t respond to him. The Marrok couldn’t hear her if she talked back to him.
Hosteen looked at her. “A fructibus eorum cognoscetis eos,” he quoted back at her softly. “How strongly do you believe that, now? What do you think the Marrok told Charles to do to her? What can he do that you and I could not?”
Anna put her knitting down and walked over to the bed. Chelsea had been restless for the past half hour or so. Bran’s message had spiked the adrenaline in both Anna and Hosteen, and that was enough. Chelsea’s heartbeat was picking up; Anna could smell fear and helpless frustration in a growing wave. That first deep sleep often reset the newly rising werewolves’ memories to the moments right before they were bitten. That was why it was such a dangerous moment.
She took one more deep breath just as magic, a lot of magic, flooded the room. Bran was right; Chelsea Sani was not a weak witch. Not at all.
Chelsea sat up in one explosive movement, staring at Hosteen without recognition or sanity in her eyes. Panicked, she rose to a crouch, crying out involuntarily, a harsh wolflike sound. The magic, which had been strong, suddenly made it hard to breathe in the room, as if the magic had replaced the oxygen.
Anna met Hosteen’s eyes and then showed him what being an Omega really meant as she flooded the room with her own particular and peculiar power.
Charles jumped rather than ran down the stairs, conscious of startling Kage when he landed beside Joseph’s son at the foot of the stairs with more sound than he usually allowed himself. But just now Charles was more interested in speed than stealth.
He threw open the door to the room where Hosteen had stashed Kage’s wife. And jumped back like a scalded cat almost before he felt the touch of Anna’s magic.
“Heyya, Charles,” slurred Hosteen as though he were drunk. He was leaning against the wall on the far side of where Anna had dropped her knitting in a deep red tangle of yarn and needles. “Come join the par-ty.” Then Hosteen giggled.
Anna gave Charles a helpless look, her back to the werewolf and the bed.
Charles grinned at Anna through the open door, but he didn’t approach any closer. Brother Wolf wanted to go in and roll in her power like a cat in catnip, but Charles kept him back. If the attack on Chelsea had been directed at the werewolves, then someone needed to be prepared to defend the people in this house. It wouldn’t be Hosteen, not for a few hours anyway. If he entered the sphere of his wife’s influence, it wouldn’t be Charles, either.
Kage came running down the hallway, not werewolf fast, but human athlete fast. He gave Charles an odd look but didn’t slow as he ran into the room.
Kage was human. He’d probably be okay. Anna’s most deadly weapon worked best on dominant werewolves, especially dominant werewolves whose wolf was kept tied up in little knots because his human half was still, after a century of being a werewolf, convinced that the wolf was something evil. At least Charles thought that might be why Hosteen’s reaction was this extreme.
“Grandson,” Hosteen intoned solemnly. “I’ve decided to let your wife live until she does something evil.”
A woman whom Charles couldn’t see from his hallway position snickered. It wasn’t Anna, who grimaced at Charles because she knew that there would be hell to pay for this tomorrow. They both knew a wolf like Hosteen wouldn’t forgive her lightly for doing this to him.
“Evil,” said the other woman, who could only be Chelsea, though she sounded quite different from the woman he’d heard talk at dinner. She spoke dramatically with a touch of comic flare that might or might not have been intentional. “I’d like to do some evil to you right now, you old bastard. But mostly I’d like to do something evil with my sweetie.” Her voice was relaxed and smoldering.